


Gah²

by paraboobizarre



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-05
Updated: 2007-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:51:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paraboobizarre/pseuds/paraboobizarre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens after Tom wakes up...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gah²

Tom jerked out of a hazy and confusing dream as the bus driver jumped on the breaks, making the bus swerve and sway. He had bumped his head against the end of the bunk. It took a few moments to work out where he was, why he felt so warm and why his left arm felt numb.

“Oh god…no.” Tom stared down at the body laying halfway on top of him. Bill’s face, completely calm and serene, swam into a blurry focus. His head resting on Tom’s chest, he was draped over him, a tangle of long and heavy limbs, his slow and even breaths breezed past Tom’s Adam’s apple. It tickled a little.

  
Suddenly it all came back to him. Why he was here. And why he had fallen asleep in his twin’s bunk. Why he felt so deliciously exhausted. What they had done.  


  
Tom swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump forming in his throat. The calm he had felt only moments ago was all but replaced with a screeching hysteria. He had to get out of here. Immediately. 

Careful not to wake Bill he inched out from under his twin’s dead weight. Bill’s head slipped off his chest, landing on the soft pillow Tom had occupied moments before. His little brother grumbled something incoherent, before clutching at the pillow and rubbing his cheek against it. Tom remained frozen on the spot, one leg already dangling out of the bunk, perched precariously on the edge of the bed, praying that Bill would not wake up. 

  
Tom needed a little head start to prepare answers to the questions that would, invariably, be asked. The why and how. He already knew that whatever he said, _this_ would never go away again.

  
He tumbled out of bunk, looking around the bus for anyone who might have noticed his frazzled appearance. He felt guilty; probably looked and smelled like it, too.

Georg and Gustav sat at the far end of the bus, in front of the TV. Gustav was staring at the screen intently, the flickering light of it dancing across his face; Georg, still wrapped in his blanket, had fallen asleep, the side of his face squashed against the window pane. Gustav hardly seemed to notice Tom as he stumbled down the aisle in the direction of the tiny bathroom. The drummer just acknowledged him with a lazy wave of his hand, as Tom passed him, opening the folding door to the bathroom, before locking himself in.

  
The bathroom was minuscule at best and Tom squeezed himself past the low sink to the little window that opened up at the side of the bus. He wrenched it open all the way, sucking in the first deep breath of wet air rushing in through the little slit.

Tom had somehow entertained the mad hope that the fresh air would clean out his head but it did not. If anything, he felt even more acutely nauseated than before. 

There was strange taste in the back of his mouth and it took him a few moments to work out what exactly it was.

Strawberries.

Bill.

Tom’s insides were yanked upwards, as if on a steel hook, and he managed the tear open the lid covering the toilet bowl just in time, before his last two meals forced their way out of him again. 

He heaved a couple of times, cold sweat trickling from his forehead down into his eyes, making them sting and tear up. He looked at the mess in the bowl, vaguely discerning half-chewed cereal from this morning’s breakfast.

Having deposited of the former contents of his stomach, Tom wrestled of his clothes, bumping into the sharp edges of the sink as he struggled with his oversized shirt and the bus swayed again from side to side. The insides of his boxers were sticky and gross. He dropped the soiled thing into the little shower stall, stepping under the ice cold water moments later, letting it trickle down on him, soak through his dreads, chills running up and down his spine. 

  
They hardly ever showered on the bus; not if they could avoid it. The water got lukewarm at best and the water pressure was practically non-existent. The way he looked at it, this was his punishment, probably the first in a long series that was still to come. He stared down on the boxers, laying a heap in a corner of the stall, soaked and dripping. He still felt sick and slightly sorry he didn’t have anything more in his stomach he could throw up. He just wanted to get rid of it all. 

Tom remained in the shower for as long as he dared without wasting too much water. Stepping out of the stall, a rush of cold air settled on his bare back; he shivered violently, groping for some dry towel, then for his tee-shirt. Flinging the soaked boxer-short into the wastepaper basket under the sink, Tom collected the rest of his clothes and left the bathroom again.

  
He bumped into a bleary eyed Georg on his way out, who sized Tom up from head to toe, as he stood in the aisle, barefooted with nothing on but his shirt, his lips a slightly blue-ish colour. If Georg found anything extraordinary about his friend’s unusual state, he obviously decided not to mention it.

“Gustav’s making some instant coffee,” Georg said, pointing at the back of the bus, before he continued, “we’ll arrive at the hotel in like an hour or so. Bill suggested we play poker - you in?” He asked, already pushing past Tom again, undoubtedly to fetch the cards and the chips.

Tom stole a furtive glance at the dining carrel. Bill was arranging his long legs on the couch, fussing with a blanket and some pillows; he wore Tom’s hoodie; Tom could not even remember taking it off in Bill’s bunk. Gustav was muttering quiet encouragement to the old and battered looking water cooker, that stood lined up next to four coffee mugs.

  
“ Come on, get dressed.” Georg gave him a light slap on his rear end, almost making Tom jump out of his skin. “I need your help to crush Gustav. He can’t win _all_ the time and Bill cannot bluff worth a shit.” 

Obediently Tom trudged back to his bunk, putting on some clean clothes, drying his soaking dreads on the old tee-shirt; it smelled of Bill’s body spray and there were definite stains on it as well he hadn’t noticed before. He flung it to the foot of his bunk, onto the pile with the pants from before, seriously considering just throwing the whole bunch away as soon as they arrived at the hotel. He would have to endure a lecture from Dave about them not being super-rich and that he should take better care of his stuff, but considering his other options, a little reprimanding from David didn’t seem so bad.

  


His heart beat sped up, his steps slowing down as he neared the dining carrel. Tom felt a little relief wash over him, when he saw Gustav had sat down next to Bill; Tom squeezed into the empty seat next to Georg, taking a peek under the cards in front of him.

Bill had already folded and was now staring at the grey-in-grey scenery that flitted past the window of the bus, his fingers flexing round the coffee mug. 

  
They were still on the autobahn but there were already houses scattered behind the dirty yellow sound insulation walls running along the lanes. It would only be a matter of time until their exit came up and the bus would have to wind its way through the narrow city streets.

  


It was always the same. As soon as they left the autobahn, a nervous energy would start to build up in the bus. Tom suspected it was Bill who spread it around; his twin could never sit still as soon as there was even the remotest possibility they would get off the bus some time soon. Bill would pace around aimlessly, then he would start to pack his bag; then re-pack it at least once, never quite satisfied with what he had packed. 

  
Exactly like their mum, Tom thought idly, as he raised Gustav for another five hundred even though his cards were worthless. Their mum would never be at ease until she carried half the household with her, in one of her enormous bags. It was strange, the way Tom would always notice some quirky habit Bill shared with their mum, often wondering which peculiarities of hers he had copied or maybe even inherited.

  
Bill was so much more like mum, even though he would never admit it. _Mum._

Tom felt his stomach turn upside down at the thought. Their mum. _Oh god._

He took a giant gulp of the coffee, hissing as the hot liquid burned his tongue; Georg chuckled quietly, slapping Tom on the shoulder as he coughed and gasped for air. 

“You okay?” Bill asked, his tone maybe a bit more concerned than was adequate to the situation.

“Yeah yeah yeah…I’m fine,” Tom grumbled under his still short breath, watching Gustav raise for another five hundred. He would fold, there was no use pretending…

It seemed to take the bus driver ages to manoeuvre the bulky vehicle through the maze of back streets to the hotel. Tom tried to keep any contact or conversation with his brother to a bare minimum; the resulting silence was far from comfortable and even Georg caught on to the fact that the atmosphere on the bus was a lot tenser than usual.

Tom sat in a corner of the carrel, staring out at half empty streets, the gutters already overflowing from the heavy rainfall. As hard as he tried _not_ to think about what had happened this afternoon, his thoughts eventually always circled back to it. He could still feel his skin burn and tingle where Bill had touched him; like he had marked him all over. Absentmindedly he tongued at his piercing, wiggling it back and forth. Did Bill…maybe…think the same. About him…

  


The bus jerked to a halt, the pneumatic doors up front hissing as they slid open. A wave of cold air and rain forced itself into the bus, followed by Dave, who clutched at a little umbrella, his jacket soaked round the shoulder and down his back.

Tom groaned inwardly as he saw only two keys dangle from their manager’s hand. Room-sharing. That meant he would have to sit it out with Bill. Before, during and after their little talk. He dreaded the talk, seeing as he still had not even the slightest inkling of what he could offer in way of an explanation. 

They climbed off the bus, were greeted by Saki and some of his fellow henchmen, escorted into the hotel and shooed off in the direction of the elevator. Not a single fan was waiting outside, thanks to the almost monsoon like quality of the rainfall. The trip through the lobby, the ride in the elevator up to their floor, the usual haggling about which pair got which room, it all breezed past Tom as if he wasn’t really there at all. He couldn’t have cared less about the room. He just wanted a room, two _separate_ beds, that inevitable talk and then peace and quiet.

  
He watched Bill, Georg and Gustav as they argued about the rooms, standing at a little distance, not even paying attention. Bill eventually snagged one of the keys and walked briskly down the hall, with Tom bobbing despondently in his wake.

Something about the way Bill behaved told Tom there would be no talk unless he started it himself. It would be so easy to just forget it ever happened. 

He watched Bill thunder into the room, throwing his bag on one of the single beds, shrug out of his jacket and shoes, his socks and then make a straight line for the bathroom, gripping his toiletries bag tightly.

Tom sighed internally, letting his bag fall right at the doorstep, before he followed his brother into the bathroom.

  


“Did you do this on purpose?” Tom flinched lightly, hearing his own voice, a lot louder then he had intended it to be, echo off the tiles of the bathroom. Not the ideal beginning for the big talk. It was blunt and too straight forward. He cringed. He just wasn’t good with words.

Bill turned off the tap, watching the water gurgle down the drain; Tom could see Bill’s chest heaving, saw him tense visibly, the bony shoulders drawing upwards.

“On purpose?” Bill’s left hand shot out, grabbing at his toiletries bag, its contents rattling as he dug around aimlessly. Tom watched him rifle through tubes of foundation. 

Mascara. 

Eye shadow. 

Nail polish and eye liners. 

And for the first time ever the sight made him feel slightly uneasy, somewhat embarrassed. 

“On purpose? You should hear yourself talking,” Bill spat out, his eyes boring into Tom’s reflected image in the mirror. 

“Sure, I lure my brother into my bunk, play him some erotic story and then force him to jack me off - wohoo, my grand master plan,” Bill shuddered theatrically, his hands waving through the air with an odd flourish, before he flipped Tom off and furiously tugged at a pack of Kleenex. 

  


Tom stood still, leaning against the edge of the sink and watched his twin set to work on his face; they had had some obnoxious meet and greet this morning before they left and Bill was still in full war paint. Bill rubbed at his eyes furiously, smearing black eye shadow and mascara all around his eyes; the sickening sweet and artificial smell of lotion filled the air around Tom; wads of paper were thrown past him, landing spot on in the little trash can at the door, each single one of them soaked in lotion, black make up and caramel coloured foundation.

When Tom looked in the mirror again, he was met by a different but still fiercely familiar face. There were dark shadows under Bill’s eyes and Tom wondered if he had noticed them before; Bill looked every bit as tired as Tom felt.

  
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Bill said, tossing the last Kleenex in the direction of the bin, missing it this time. He tugged off his shirt, letting it drop to the ground where he stood. A strange, sickening tug in the pit of his stomach made Tom look down on the floor again. The memories of this afternoon flooded back to him, so suddenly, he almost felt dizzy. The way Bill had tasted of strawberry gum. “You could have left, you know.” He heard the zipper being pulled down, the pants pooling around Bill’s ankles moments later, the massive belt buckle clattering against the tiles.

  
“So this is the way it’s going to be from now on?” Bill turned on the shower, raising his voice to drown out the roaring of the water. “You won’t even look at me any more?”

Tom, still studying the tiles with keen interest, took a few hesitant steps backwards, finally plopping down on the closed lid of the toilet; he let out a deep sigh, thankful that the rushing water obscured it. 

“It’s not that easy, okay?” He whined in a low voice, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes. They stung and burned.

“Look at me,” Bill’s bare feet came into focus, standing right in front of him, his toes almost touching the tips of Tom’s sneakers.

“Bill, I…” Tom shook his head, fully realizing how childish he was being in this very moment. He could not avoid his brother forever. He would have to look at him again, sooner or later.

“Look. At me.” The commanding and impatient tone eventually made Tom raise his head, squinting up at his twin, slightly baffled; he had never heard Bill sound so much like their mum. 

“What’s so bad about all of this you can’t even look at me any more? It was a stupid mistake, my dick was on auto pilot, yours too and that’s that.”

“It’s not that easy, Bill. I just…”

“Oh god Tom, I’m not asking for your hand in marriage. Was it the kiss?” Bill tugged his hair back into a messy pony. Tom saw the muscles working, stretch and shift. In the clinically harsh light of the bathroom, Bill was skin and bones. He hadn’t felt that skinny in the darkness of the bunk, not at all. 

“Did the kiss spook you?” 

Tom felt the blood rush into his cheeks. 

The strawberry kisses that had made his hair stand on edge, made him forget how to breathe properly.

The way Bill had moved against him. 

The sounds, the smells, the feeling of Bill’s hand jammed between their bodies.

The taste of his brother’s skin.

That look of total abandon and trust on Bill’s face just before he…everything about it had frightened Tom; though the realization that it had felt like the most natural thing on earth to do, was probably the scariest thing about it all. And that he wanted to do it again. 

“I knew it was the kiss!” Bill slapped himself on the forehead, muttering silent curses under his breath. 

“Look, Tom…I’m…I’m sorry.” Bill’s knees cracked and crunched as he crouched down before Tom, his right hand coming to rest on Tom’s kneecap. They both looked down on the hand, the manicured tips digging into the heavy material of Tom’s pants, before Bill pulled his hand away again, an uneasy and fake-looking smile flickering over his face. 

“I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done this.” Bill pulled himself to full height again, his kneecaps, somewhat damaged from an accident in PE, popping back in place with a subdued clicking noise. Tom remembered the accident and how worried he had been. They had been twelve years old. The same year their first cat had been run over by a car…

“It was stupid mistake,” Bill repeated, looking down on Tom still sitting on the toilet bowl. “Won’t happen again. Ever.” Tom felt something fall and crumble. “I promise.” Bill extended his hand for Tom to shake. 

“Can we be cool again?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Tom lied, shaking his brother’s hand, ignoring the desperate cramping of his heart and the urge to just pull Bill in for another kiss; putting on his best smile for his brother instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [ParabooBizarre @ Livejournal.com](http://paraboobizarre.livejournal.com/)


End file.
